One Night
by Snownut
Summary: Whatever he had expected out of a semi-conscious House; maudlin had not been it.  House and Wilson share a night-and a conversation-while House is still an inpatient. My first foray into the infarction-era.


AN: I felt it was time to go back to basics with House. The infarction era is, in my mind at least, the most important time in House's life. It reshapes him. It defines his character. HL does a brilliant job giving us those glimpses into a kinder, gentler, more trusting House that may have existed before the series began. I thought it would be fun to play with that House for a while.

AN2: Updated copy, with all the little corrections to make it match One Day, and One Week since they're apparently an infarction series. :D

One Night

It had been one hell of a long week.

He could feel the tension in the set of his shoulders and the way his jaw unconsciously clenched. His eyes stung and burned even in the dull glow from his desk lamp, and he forced himself to lay his pen down as he reached to rub the back of his neck. Like he had so many other times this past week, Wilson had attempted to concentrate on his paperwork only to find his thoughts kept wandering back upstairs without him. After struggling on for a time, he gave into the pull of his conscience and let his feet lead him to the ICU once more. Wilson stood outside the door in his now customary spot, motionless in the fluorescent light of the hallway. House was asleep; breathing steadily in the darkness of his sterile room. From the monitors he could tell House had had a rough afternoon; the pulse ox was registering a low saturation even with a full mask on—and the sentinel presence of the ventilator parked nearby did not serve to reassure him. House's heart rate was still trending toward tachycardia; only the morphine and the IV hypertensives were keeping him out of the red zone. With a sigh, he turned toward the ICU nursing station and pulled House's chart from its slot. He hefted it up to the counter's surface; noting the extra weight of each test and order written as they struggled to keep House on this side of life. Paging through the labs, he noted the way House's renal function still courted failure; the way his AST and ALT had tripled and his potassium remained stubbornly high. He leaned heavily on the counter, and rubbed his eyes tiredly. House had already been in the hospital for nearly a week. In the aftermath of the infarction; his cardiac arrest and induced coma; the muscle debridement and resulting renal failure and compromised cardiac status had nearly taken him out. Now he lingered only in the moments between the medication and the pain. House had been asleep, screaming or passing-out drunk every time Wilson had seen him. He knew it was selfish, but he found himself hoping each time he visited that his friend had finally come back to him.

"Dr Wilson?"

Wilson smiled and stood straighter beneath the nurse's cool hand on his shoulder. She rounded the corner of the desk and gave him a sympathetic smile as she took her seat.

"Vicki?"

"Nikki." The nurse corrected gently, and Wilson blushed. Somewhere, he knew, House was laughing at him.

"How is he tonight?" Wilson asked quietly. He continued perusing the chart, noting that Morris had ordered an arteriogram for sometime tomorrow.

"Much the same as this morning, best I can tell from the chart."

"Cardiac status?" he asked quietly, remembering the vent he'd seen through the window.

"Trending tachycardic; his potassium rose precipitously about mid morning. Dr. Morris thought they might have to avert but he responded to the atropine. Dr. Cuddy requested that the vent remain on standby."

"Dialysis?"

"Standing orders. Every six to eight hours." Nikki trailed a finger down the chart and flipped up a BUN/creatinine result for him to see. "Renal function is slowly improving, though Nephro thinks it'll be another few days til we see a major improvement."

"Has he been coherent?"

"In and out, times two."

Wilson hated to admit it, but what they really needed was a House-inspired fix. He'd diagnosed himself; both with the infarction and the subsequent cardiac arrest with eerie accuracy. House was oriented to person and place, but not time. Wilson snorted, shook his head. House was on enough morphine to take an elephant down. He'd be of no help for the foreseeable future. Wilson sighed as he closed the chart and slid it back onto the shelf.

"Is he p.o?" he asked.

"He's cleared, but isn't taking anything." Nikki gave Wilson a sympathetic smile as she watched him drum his fingers on the countertop. "Maybe you could talk him into it."

Wilson snorted again in reply, and turned away from the desk. "Thank you, Nikki." He called over his shoulder as he moved back down to House's room and slid the door open. He contemplated letting his eyes adjust to sitting in the dark; but opted to flip the overhead light on. It wasn't as though House himself would care either way. Smiling wryly to himself, he sought out the armchair beside the bed and sank down into it. With a gentle hand, he touched House's shoulder and squeezed slightly. He felt a smile threaten to overtake him as House roused.

"Hey." Wilson greeted softly. He smiled to see House blink at him fuzzily, his blue eyes were clouded with sleep and his pupils were constricted. This was stoned House. Not screaming-in-agony House. Given the circumstances, he preferred the former. "How are you doing in there?"

"Better." House murmured tiredly through the oxygen mask. He squinted into the light before shoving the mask away and scrubbing his face in an attempt to wake up. He fumbled for the rail before grabbing it with both hands and making an attempt to pull himself upright that Wilson thwarted by putting a hand on his chest.

"Stay there." He ordered, and Wilson held him still as he used the switch to raise the head of the bed so he was sitting up. "Try to keep your leg still."

"I feel fine." House mumbled. The oxygen mask had been shoved back into his hairline and was leaving a thin line across his forehead.

"I'll bet you do." Wilson chuckled. He glanced to the monitors and found House's sats were holding steady, and decided to ignore the mask for the moment. Let House make himself comfortable if he could. Luckily, House seemed content to remain still except for an uncoordinated lurch out of his nest of pillows to snatch the remote on the rail. Apparently satisfied, he settled back in and turned the set on.

"How's the leg tonight?" he asked casually. House shrugged as he fired

away with the tiny remote. The channels changed too quickly for Wilson to make out what was on. Somehow he doubted House knew what was on either, but with House you never could be sure.

"Sore." House rasped at length..

Wilson nodded; vaguely recalling amidst the array of labs that Simpson had taken him for a very throrough MRI. Transferring multiple times and then lying on the equipment tray probably hadn't made for the best of days. Still, if there was anything worth noting the MRI would have caught it. He made a mental note to check the chart again when he was out there next.

"This before or after the tach?" he asked, feeling some of his worry spill away. This was the first almost normal conversation he'd had with House in nearly a week.

"Before." Sighing, House turned the volume up on _E!_ and leaned back again. He rubbed his eyes, and Wilson smiled again as his eyelids fell to half mast. He wouldn't be awake long.

"Stacy?" he felt compelled to ask.

"Went home." House yawned, and Wilson yawned too. "Said the chair wasn't comfortable."

Wilson slid down in the armchair until his head rested on the back. "It's not." He agreed. Letting his head roll to the side, he asked; "You eat anything?"

"No." House yawned again, and his eyes fluttered closed.

"Well, _I_ didn't eat yet either. Want me to bring you something?"

House didn't answer, and Wilson sat up to see that he'd had fallen asleep again. He sat quietly for a few minutes, watching House intently. His skin was sallow and gray; Wilson could already make out the beginning of permanent pain lines in the crow's feet around his eyes. The door to the ICU whooshed open, and he looked up to see Nikki advance into the room with a new IV bag.

"What is it?" he asked quietly.

"Loading Vancomysin." Nikki whispered. "White count was skyrocketing with the last check, Dr. Simpson'll be here to check the surgical site soon."

Wilson shook his head sadly. "I suppose it was too much to ask that he skip the infection on top of the other complications."

Nikki said nothing, just swabbed the port and tied the new IV in with his other lines. Together, they watched the monitors for a few minutes before Nikki was satisfied and left to document the dose in his chart. An infection. Perfect. Just what House needed when his cardiac and renal status was already compromised by the systemic damage from the infarct. Smiling sadly, Wilson rose to his feet and stepped close to the bed. He reached across to the portable tray and lathered expertly with the hand sanitizer before snapping on a pair of gloves. The debridement surgery had been a fiasco from beginning to end. It promised to be a chronic problem for the foreseeable future as well.

Most of House's _vastus lateralis_ and a great deal of the _vastus intermedius _had been stripped away; layer upon layer of muscle fascia had been deprived of oxygen and blood supply for four days. Simpson had done his best to remove only the necrotic tissue, but so much had been lost that he'd been hardpressed to find enough tissue to salvage. House hadn't really been awake to see it yet, but Wilson had been horrified when he'd had his first look at his friend's mangled leg. Simpson had left a penrose in; there was a great deal of discharge from the drain according to the nurses' chart notes, and Wilson foolishly hoped that there wasn't an infection setting in. Lifting the blanket, he expertly removed the tape holding the gauze in place and carefully probed the incisions, noting the red erythema to one puckering suture line. The drain was held in place by a few stitches, and Wilson was happy to find minimal discharge from it presently, though the inflammation to the suture line was enough to set his teeth on edge.

Wilson re-affixed the gauze and was about to step away from the bed when he saw House's leg begin to twitch. Asleep, House didn't immediately react except to try and shift the leg. When the pain ramped up, his glassy eyes shot open and he drew a shuddering breath as the leg visibly went into muscle spasm. House reached down with both hands to paw at the bandage. His breathing grew noisy and he grew increasingly agitated when Wilson intercepted him, taking his hands firmly. House made a sound of frustration and Wilson tried to console him to no avail.

"I don't think—"

"Let me go!" House screamed, and Wilson jumped at his vehemence. On the monitors, House's heart rate jumped as well. He grunted then, wheezing as the tachycardia accelerated. Wilson picked up the oxygen mask and pressed it over House's nose and mouth to seal it. He struggled to keep the mask centered as House fought against him.

"Easy, House. Easy." Wilson murmured reassuringly. "You're all right."

"No!" House's words slurred; he tried to wiggle out of Wilson's reach, but his lower half worked against him and he could do little more than shift his upper body to the far side of the mattress. Wilson murmured softly to House as he pressed the mask into place and held it. Over his shoulder, he could hear the door open again, and several pairs of feet scurried into the room. Wilson caught a glimpse of Nikki's pink scrubs in his periphery, but he did not dare catch her eye. On the bed, House writhed and panted; sweating profusely. His breath came harder and faster until he was hyperventilating. His tachycardia accelerated as well, the heart rate monitor pegged him at 177 before one of the nurses pushed a syringe through the central line.

Wilson held the mask in place while the dose kicked in, leeching the panic from House as he sank down into the drug. His blue eyes, glassy and bloodshot slowly closed under the double dose of medication. When he felt certain House was under, he shakily lifted his hand from the mask and grasped the rail.

"Damn." He surmised, and sank down into the armchair while still clasping one of House's sweaty hands. Nikki was busy checking House's lines to make sure none had been kinked or disconnected.

"This is what happened earlier. He's had hypertensive crises with little warning.." Nikki told him flatly. "I was watching his vitals on the monitor while you were in here. He was trending up again."

"He seemed fine for a while. It came out of nowhere." Wilson felt dismayed; House's shift in behavior had unsettled him. "What'd you give him now?"

The ICU doors whisked open, and Wilson turned as Dr. Cuddy spoke from the doorway. "Ativan with an Atropine chaser." She said softly. She was holding House's chart, and Wilson rubbed his forehead in frustration. "It's either pain precipitating the tachycardia or it's the other way around. It doesn't really matter which is which at this point. The result is the same."

"What do we do about it?" Wilson asked coolly.

"We wait, Dr. Wilson." She responded quietly. "We wait."

He awoke in the darkest watch of the night to the _snick_ of a fluorescent light that painted the inside of his eyelids orange. Groaning, he opened his eyes to find the night nurse standing at House's bedside. She had his chart open, resting on the rolling table; and she was studying the monitors intently as she documented his vitals. She looked up at him regretfully, and Wilson dismissed her expression with a wave of his hand. His eyes followed hers, noting every reading as intently as she did. Oxygenation at 98% with the full mask, Foley output minimal; however, his urine color was improving slowly from rusty-orange to a bright yellow-orange. BP was holding at 110/78—heart rate was down to 87 from the previous spike to 177. Temp was elevated; 101.7. House looked good. Better. Overall. Stretching in the chair, Wilson rubbed his eyes tiredly as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

"I'm sorry I woke you." The nurse told him quietly as she closed the chart and set it aside. Wilson shook his head as she rummaged in her pockets to produce a syringe and vials. Reaching down gently, she eased House's gown aside and swabbed the central line port with an alcohol pad before threading the needle into the line. A flash of blood in the syringe, and she twisted the vial into place before turning it a quarter turn. Blood flowed steadily into the vial, and Wilson watched House stir; muttering faintly and turning his face away from the light. Dazed, bloodshot blue eyes fluttered open and he blinked heavily.

"It's all right, Dr. House." The nurse said calmly. "Just taking a sample for the lab." She expertly removed one vial and changed to the next. House lay still on the bed, staring up at the ceiling tiles. Wilson didn't think he was asleep; but he wasn't all there, either. The nurse finished; capping the syringe and tossing it into the sharps. She rested a hand on House's forearm and waited for his eyes to track to her before speaking.

"Any pain?" she asked gently. House stared at her for a moment before shaking his head. He reached up again and pushed the mask off.

"What time is it?" he croaked hoarsely.

"Two-thirty." The nurse had her hands full with the vials she'd filled, so Wilson rose to his feet and poured some of the water on the table into a cup and held it out for him. House's pupils were lost in the depth of the drugs, but his eyes widened slightly when he recognized Wilson.

"What're you doing here?" he asked slowly as he took the cup and held it, awkwardly. Wilson put his hand over House's and guided it to his lips. House sipped once, slowly; then pushed the cup away. Wilson sighed—House still wasn't really interested in anything p.o.—but they'd have to work on that later.

"Came to see you." Wilson set the cup aside and scooted his chair closer to the bed so House could see him better. "Are you in pain, House?"

House seemed to run a self-check, and then shook his head. "No."

"How do you feel?"

"Cold." He rasped at length. Wilson smiled.

"I'm not surprised. You're running a temp."

"Infection?" he asked, and Wilson sighed. He would be lucid in the dark hours of the night. He shook his head wryly at the irony. House had always been a night owl.

"Yeah. Labs caught it yesterday."

"What'm I on?" House yawned then, and Wilson hoped he wouldn't ask too many more questions.

"Vanco. You had a loading dose last night, and—"

The nurse smiled as she joined the conversation again on cue; "one about two hours ago." Her eyes flickered up to the still full bag on the IV stand, and House's unfocused gaze followed hers. "If you don't need anything, I'll run these to the lab." She said, unsuccessfully trying to hide a smile.

"M'fine." House yawned again, and Wilson settled down into his chair again as the nurse left them to their own devices. He wondered briefly if House was coherent enough to ask further about his present condition, but no questions came. For a long time House remained in his semi-reclined position; staring up at the ceiling.

"Wilson?" he asked softly.

"Yeah?"

"Did you ever think about how you'd die?"

Wilson's head snapped up abruptly. Whatever he had expected out of a semi-conscious House; maudlin had not been it.

"You're not going to die." He said sharply, leaning forward to grip the mattress urgently. House gave him a withering look in reply, his eyes growing ever distant.

"I don't mean now. I mean when you were a kid. Did you ever think about it? How it would feel to be old and sick and slowly dying?"

"House." He said softly.

"I didn't think I'd live very long." He confessed, continuing as though Wilson hadn't spoken. "I thought maybe I would go away to war like my dad and die over there. They'd send a flag back to my mom. I never really thought I'd be old."

"You're not old." Wilson whispered. Tears stung his eyes, drifted down his cheek.

"I bet you can feel it, you know—the minutes and the seconds as they wind down. I used to lay under this tree in the park so I wouldn't have to go home—I remember the way the clouds looked and the birds sounded. The way the grass felt and the way the sun looked after it filtered through the branches of the tree. I knew I wouldn't be there again, so I wanted to remember it exactly as it was. I think that's what happens when you die."

Wilson felt his throat burn as he struggled to maintain his composure. He felt helpless; washed aground on the shore of House's naked honesty. He grasped House's hand, squeezed it firmly. "I won't let you go." He said finally.

House blinked up at him shyly, his voice unusually soft in the silence of the room.

"Will you stay with me?"

Wilson cleared his throat, and tightened his grip on their joined hands, sliding his left hand over and squeezing more intently with both. "I'm here, House."

"I don't want to be alone at the end when it comes. Promise me you'll stay with me the whole time."

"You're not dying, House." Wilson promised, and gave him a brave smile.

"I know. Not now. When the time comes. Promise."

"House-"

"Promise." He demanded, shifting in the bed to slide his other hand over their joined grip. Wilson shook his head in exasperation; feeling the tears pool beneath his chin.

"I'll be here." He said fiercely. In his grasp, House slowly relaxed. He watched Wilson closely; his eyes blinking languidly until they closed and he drifted off again. Still clutching their joined hands, Wilson leaned forward over the bedrail and shakily pressed his chapped lips to House's forehead. Glancing back, he gently lined himself up with the armchair and fell backwards into it; still clinging to the fevered hand of his friend.

"I'll always be here." He promised gravely.


End file.
